Angel of Berlin
by Mandolina Lightrobber
Summary: A hunt for a beautiful painting reveals an entirely different story beneath it, as layered as the grime and dust on the varnish of the original. / Absenceshipping (Jonouchi Katsuya x Malik Ishtar x Ryouta Kajiki). Art thieves AU.


**A/N:** For the YGO Fanfiction Contest Season 11 Round 7. The pairing: Absenceshipping (Jonouchi Katsuya x Malik Ishtar x Ryouta Kajiki). Art thieves AU. (Stealing is bad. Don't do it.) Parallel universe where card games don't exist, but awesome tech stuff does.

**Disclaimer: **Kazuki Takahashi and all associated companies are the rightful owners of the Yuugiou! franchise and I claim no association with any of them. No copyright infringement intended with this and no money is being made from this. Please support the creator by purchasing the official releases.

**Warnings:** things get gross at the end and people die.

* * *

**Angel of Berlin**

Joey doesn't want Marik on his team. He's okay with Mako, but the Egyptian they could really do without. Maybe he's changed now, and maybe he really is a different person, but there's too much of a grudge still going strong after the Japan incident where they'd ended up on the opposite sides halfway through a hunt for a Muramasa original katana. Also, Marik had won. That always stings.

He shoots a glance sideways at where the sandy-blond head of the guy is lowered over blueprints haphazardly scattered all over a table. He's good with cryptography and deciphering messages, whereas Mako is the one in charge of navigation. Joey is there for the sleight of hand, and, admittedly, the risk-taking and the often ridiculous lucky streak. They're not exactly compatible, but what the client wants, the client gets. In this case – a team of three decently skilled men that won't end up being too costly if things go sour.

For all those who've ever needed a professional art thief, Marik is in the Top 20 of the food chain. Bakura is better, if not _the best_, but he's also got a split personality disorder, so that you never know which one you're actually dealing with. He might steal the painting for you; he might steal some artwork from you. And then he might do both and call the cops on you as an added bonus. And if you are the kind who wants somebody stealing artwork for you, of course there's all the reason for you to stay as far away from the law enforcement as humanly possible. Which makes Bakura a dangerous liability once he's been contracted for a job.

Naturally, Marik isn't without problems, but when he has one of his episodes and goes dark, you only need to ramp up the reward to placate him. Mako and Joey are within the reasonable Top 50, so all in all, it's a formidable and a very affordable team. There isn't really a list, per se, but there are always people who know someone who knows someone who's heard a great deal about this thief or that thief, and some of the stories are quite ridiculous, while others are merely whispered rumours. Most of the time, those rumours end up being true. Such as the fact that Marik can charm the pants off anyone he sets his mind to trick into helping his cause.

Joey reminds himself of this, in a faint attempt to reassure himself that they'll finish this job quickly and then go their separate ways again. Today, though, they're going out to scout the area together. They need a clear understanding of the location, of the building, the security cameras, all available escapes in case of an emergency, and everything else that catches their attention either as a setback, or an advantage. Their plan is already halfway complete and if they can fill in the remaining blanks in a single day, they might be able to move out the very next day. There's a silent two-way agreement that, the less time they spend together, the better for everyone.

The day is overcast, heavy grey clouds blanketing the Berlin skyline in a uniform mass. The wind is chilly and it cuts through to the bone, no matter how thick their clothing is. Marik pops up the collar of his light grey coat and adjusts his black scarf to cover his neck more efficiently because the wind has somehow managed to slip through and deliver a few icy caresses to his skin. He shoots a slightly envious glance at Mako who looks perfectly content in his fishtail parka. His headband is pulled lower to somewhat cover his ears and he looks the part of an excited tourist. It's the first time being in Germany for all three of them.

They pick up coffee on the way to their destination to warm their hands as well as their insides, doing their best impression of three good friends out for a casual stroll. The coffee is decent enough, though far from the best Marik has tasted. Neither Joey, nor Mako appears to have any issue with theirs, however. Without any rush they stroll halfway down the Unter den Linden, then turn right and head for their target, stopping a modest distance away from the tall glass-and-concrete skyscraper. From the street corner where they stand in a triangle formation facing each other, they can easily survey the area while pretending to be in a lively discussion on something completely innocuous. It probably helps matters that they're conversing in Japanese.

It takes Joey a moment to notice that Marik has fallen out of their conversation, his gaze caught on something behind the blonde man's back. He frowns.

"Marik? Earth to Marik." He waits until the Egyptian turns his unnatural violet eyes towards him and flexes his fists in the pockets of his green anorak. He'd like to get this part of their task over with as quickly as possible and go someplace a lot warmer. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

For all that's worth, he probably has, Marik thinks ruefully, his hand tightening on the still half-full coffee cup as his gaze shifts away again. He spits out a single word, "Shyamalan."

Joey thinks he's already heard all the Egyptian swearwords, considering the amount of time he's spent working alongside Marik, but this is a new one.

Mako follows the Egyptian's gaze with his own. It stops on a tall woman in all black standing at a window of a bookstore across the street, seemingly absorbed in the books displayed there. Mako's gaze darts back to Marik for a moment in evaluation before zipping to the woman again.

"An acquaintance?" he asks, studying her more carefully this time around. She has long dark hair, lightly tinted thin rectangular glasses, leather trench coat, and a tie-dyed blue scarf wrapped messily around her neck.

"Don't turn around, idiot!" Marik quietly snarls at Joey when the latter turns to look at what his partners are looking at, intrigued by Mako's question.

The woman slowly turns away from the display window, her back still turned to them, her gaze still lingering on something behind the glass, and then she pulls it away and proceeds to walk down the street. Marik tosses his coffee cup into the closest trash can, not caring that the liquid sloshes out, and starts after her. He breaks into a sprint the moment she turns a corner. She's a ghost and more than just an acquaintance, and he owes her a great deal after the Russia fiasco. She's also in the same business and he's not stupid enough to view this as a mere coincidence. She's here for the same thing they're after.

Joey curses and chases after him, with Mako close on his heels.

Marik rounds a corner and stops dead in his tracks. She's there, already waiting for him, leaning against the wall like she's got all the time in the world at her disposal, and the way her hand rests on her waist…

Joey runs into him, though his gang-honed reflexes have him stopping before he can topple the other over. Even so, Marik does end up staggering forward a bit. Joey mutters a low 'sorry' upon hearing the irritated click of the Egyptian's tongue. Mako joins them in a matter of nanoseconds, his stop considerably smoother after seeing Joey come to an abrupt and somewhat ungraceful halt.

"Careful, she's armed," Marik warns them in a low voice, his gaze lingering on her right hand.

She laughs softly and tilts her head slightly towards him in acknowledgement. "Marik. It's been a while."

"_Shyamalan_." In his mind, memories replay the snowy streets of Moscow, a chill that settled into his bones and wouldn't leave for weeks even after he'd left Russia and returned to Egypt, and a desperate urge to murder. "Here on business?"

"You too, I presume. Here, I'll guess – the angel painting?"

None of the three men say a word. They each have their own thoughts to deal with, and most of those are along the lines of who else is involved and who else wants the painting.

"Haven't you asked yourselves why anyone would want a painting like that? It's nothing special; I'm sure you're aware of it."

"It's not our business what people want this stuff for," Joey says before Marik can get out a word – though he hadn't intended to answer her in the first place. The blond man frowns at her, studying her and committing her image to his memory in case he ever happens to run into her again in the future. In this narrow field of work, he's more than certain that they will cross paths sooner rather than later. He subconsciously adjusts his scarf and pulls the zipper of his anorak up a little higher. Either the cold weather is getting to him, or…

As for what she'd said – he did wonder the same when he was first given the details of this assignment. He's come a long way from being a petty member of a yo-yo gang, harassing kids for their lunch money, involving themselves into minor offenses and petty crimes, and fighting over territory with rival gangs, to being a respectable art thief – and there's a conundrum right there – and he didn't do it on blind luck alone.

"Oh? But it's curious, isn't it? There are hundred other paintings just like this one. It's drawn by a no-name artist." She studies Joey for a while, then asks, "You're the one they call the Third Wheeler, aren't you?"

Joey makes a face at that. Nobody's dared to call him that to his face, but he's heard a whisper or two of that belittling nickname and it tends to set his teeth on the edge.

She laughs again and shakes her head slightly in disbelief. "You're being cheated and you don't even know it."

"What are you talking about?" Marik demands, eyes narrowing in distrust.

"It's not about the stupid angel painting. It's about what's _under_ that painting."

Mako opens his mouth, then closes it. "You mean it's painted over something?" He's heard of it before; he'd just never even imagined that they might get a job featuring one. It also makes him wonder how many others might have been not quite what they appeared at first glance. He's researched the subject a bit beforehand. It certainly makes smuggling some artwork a lot easier if it's masked under a layer of paint depicting something innocuous. Of course, it takes a certain amount of skill to not damage the original either in the process of overpainting or removing the extra coating. If someone has the money to cover the expenses for both and can bear the though of the original artwork going through that, though…

"Ding-ding-ding. Winner! Now go ask your client what's under it. And maybe demand a pay rise while you're at it."

While Mako and Joey share looks, Marik is still frowning at Shyamalan. "Why are you telling us this?"

"Well, I did give you some trouble in Russia." She smiles at the Egyptian. Her smile is as sweet as a barbed wire.

Marik knows that smile. It's the same she gave him – and Bakura – a second before yelling something in Russian while pointing at them, drawing the attention of passersby, who stopped to stare and listen, while the two of them just stood there, not understanding a word of what was being said, though guessing at the general idea behind them. When a pair of policemen had started walking their way, she'd disappeared in the crowd with the Monet original which had taken them an entire week to steal from the well-guarded mansion of some Russian businessman. It had cost him two thirds of his savings to get out of that mess. He owes her a bullet for that stunt. Somewhere that would ensure her survival, but would cause a lot of pain and inconvenience her for the rest of her life.

"Well, now. Isn't _this_ a surprise?"

Marik suppresses a shudder, recognising that voice. Things have just taken a turn for the worse. He doesn't dare take his eyes off the woman, however, suspecting that she might draw her gun on them now that her backup has shown up. Joey and Mako will have to deal with the newcomer if he tries anything. There's no warmth in his tone when he says, "_Bakura_."

"Harassing my partner, are we?" Bakura drawls and saunters past them, a very self-satisfied smirk on his face. His long black coat is open as if he's not even feeling the cold weather. The coattails are streaming behind him with every stride he takes and the wind works in his favour to make it look dramatically over the top. His usually dishevelled long hair is been pulled back into a respectable ponytail. He's sporting rectangular glasses, much like the ones Shyamalan has, and they somehow look out of place on his face for Marik when Bakura turns with great flair to stand beside the woman who still hasn't moved an inch.

"Just reminiscing on the good old times," she says. Her smile is borderline predatory now.

Marik sorely regrets leaving his gun back at their base. "Glad to see you got out of Russia alive," he says to Bakura and his voice is laden thick with sarcasm. He's had his suspicions about the entire ordeal and he thinks he's seeing them come true here, in the way Bakura stands beside Shyamalan. The way his body is turned ever-so-slightly towards her, the way her shoulders lose a fraction of the tension that was there only a moment ago. They're responding to each other on a subconscious level, which means they've been in league for more than a few weeks. More than a few months, even.

"Are you still upset over that old thing?" Shyamalan snorts.

"The agreement is always "_every man for himself_" in our business, don't you remember?" Bakura sneers, making a wide gesture with his hands. "If you can't handle that, maybe you're in the wrong profession?"

Marik tenses and so do Joey and Mako behind him. They all know that there's the risk of their partners selling them out to the highest bidder at any given point in time. Except nobody is stupid enough to do so, considering that the one who falls will also drag down whoever is responsible. There's some sort of safety in that. They know each other well enough to be dangerous, but they don't know if they have friends who would come after them. It's a complicated system that's holding together only because it's so fragile.

Marik wonders if the Bakura he's talking to now was even there that time in Moscow. It would explain why he's so indifferent about the matter and why he's willing to work with the woman who endangered their lives. The other possibility is that they worked together against him. The possibility that those two have been a team since before then.

"I saw what I needed to see. Let's go," Bakura says to the woman and turns to walk away.

Marik says nothing to stop him. He's all too glad to see those two go. Though where they're going is a matter that upsets him greatly.

Bakura's words have sown the seed of mistrust amid them, however. It's noticeable as they hurry to finish their task. There's a tension between them that's half due to the fact that they're now racing against Bakura and Shyamalan, and in part – Bakura's words. If they allow themselves to so much as think about one of them betraying the others or bailing on them…

"So, Shyamalan," Mako prompts once they're back in the safety of their apartment. He's never heard the name before, but he knows it's not her real name. Neither of them goes by what they're really called, with the exception of Marik who doesn't even exist as a person, as far as his homeland is concerned. Mako doesn't know the full story and isn't likely to ever hear it, but from the scraps he's gathered here and there, he knows that, due to some circumstances, there is no record of him ever being born. The other person using a part of his real name is Bakura who simply doesn't care about being caught, known to have claimed more than once that no prison would hold him for long.

"She's a backstabbing bitch."

Joey starts at his words and turns his head to regard the Egyptian out of the corner of his eye. It's the first time he's ever heard Marik say something like that out loud about another person. He's always been restrained in his use of profanity. Even now his posture is tense, as if he's fighting with himself.

"Right. What did she do?" It's obvious that Marik isn't going to cough up any information without some serious prying, but Mako is curious. He's relatively new to the entire thing and therefore wants to learn as much about everything they encounter as possible. All things considered, he shouldn't even be here, but his task is making sure Joey gets out of things alive. He's sworn this on his life to their mutual friend Honda who, a few years ago, had been on the track of becoming a world-renowned motorcycle racer and a very in-demand stuntman Tristan Taylor until a drunk driver had caused a road accident which had left the rising star paralysed from waist down. Now, instead of the promising young man, there is only a broken Hiroto Honda, and the only thing he can race is wheelchairs.

"She cost me a fortune. I don't want to talk about it." Marik turns his back on them and walks into their tiny kitchen to brood.

"Rrright. Joey?"

The man in question turns his head Mako's way to show that he is paying attention, though his body remains turned towards the window, hands stuck in his pockets. He isn't really looking at the scenery behind it though. If asked, he couldn't even tell you the colour of the opposite building, even though he's spent a good five minutes staring at it.

"Mh. I'm thinking."

"That's a shock."

"Shut up."

Mako chuckles and returns his attention to the blueprints and the street maps. He checks the notes he's jotted down, reaches for a pen, intending to add some more to them, but ends up only tapping it against the paper indecisively.

"And you said that nothing exciting ever happens in Germany," he says after a moment of uneasy silence, throwing the pen down, then lunging after it to stop it from rolling off the table.

Joey frowns. "Bakura is a problem, not excitement."

"Isn't that the same thing?" He shrugs. His voice is light-hearted, though he is, by no means, taking the problem lightly. He knows that Joey and Bakura have brushed shoulders before and it didn't end in Joey's favour. Again, he doesn't know all the details, but he's heard enough about it to draw some conclusions on the matter.

The discussion of Bakura summons Marik from the kitchen. "We need to do this tonight," he announces upon stepping back into the room. "If he's working with Shyamalan, they'll move fast. We have to get ahead of them."

"So you believe in what she said about that angel painting?" Joey asks, turning away from the window and leaning back against the windowsill. His hands remain in his pockets, though there's tenseness to his shoulders that wasn't there before.

"Yes." And Marik hates to admit this. The one time he's worked with her, she's proven herself with her information. "Don't tell me you didn't question the reasons when you first read the details and saw the picture."

Joey had. Mako hadn't. But then, Joey is the more experienced one of the two. He moves away from the window and walks over to the table, pulling his hands from his pockets and leaning on the edge of it, his gaze rowing over the plans. His bangs fall forward, shadowing his eyes. When Mako looks up at him, he can only see a glimpse of them and the emotion he gleans there doesn't sit well with him at all.

"Then we do it tonight," Joey says with grim determination, and Mako experiences a sinking feeling in his stomach.

They're rushing into things again, and Mako resolves to ask Honda what exactly caused Joey to get the unflattering handle of 'Third Wheeler'. If they make it out of this alive, that is.

The act itself is surprisingly uneventful. Everything goes smoothly. The power failure they cause gives them the right amount of time to break into the building; the security responds exactly as predicted; they get to the painting without a hitch, a camera loop hiding them from the view of the guards sitting behind monitors. They cut the painting of the beatific angel out of the frame, roll it up and put it in a tube, then remain on standby until Mako provides a distraction that allows them to get out undetected. All the time they've been on the edge, nerves strained to the maximum, giving knee-jerk reactions to every single thing, expecting to run into Bakura and Shyamalan, or at the very least end up in a trap set by them, but there's no sight of either of them. It's a perfectly executed crime, and exactly because of that it doesn't sit well with Marik and Joey. Mako is just glad it's all over and they can finally hightail it out of Germany. He briefly considers becoming a pirate instead – he's definitely made enough money by now to afford his very own boat – but discards the idea almost at once. It's much harder to do that now, with the kind of technology Kaiba Corp and its rival corporations across the world are coming up with. And speaking of technology…

Once they're back at the apartment, they spread out the painting and Marik puts to use the infrared camera he pulled a lot of strings to procure that same afternoon. It's only too bad that they hadn't thought of getting one beforehand, or that the only available model at such a short notice was one that couldn't be easily and unnoticeably carried into the building, otherwise they would have found a way to take a picture of the painting in its original setting and study it prior to stealing it.

He snaps a few pictures, then steps aside while Mako hooks the camera up to their computer and transfers the images. The two minutes of waiting for the large-scale pictures to load is spent in tense silence. Even Mako's nervous drumming of fingers on the table has barely any impact on it. When the first scaled-down image opens up, Marik draws in a sharp breath and Joey mutters a low curse. There is an image beneath the angel alright. The word 'losers' painted in capital letters on an otherwise blank canvas. Mako manages to pull himself together enough to whistle at that while Marik and Joey exchange grim looks.

The lighting in their apartment isn't all that great, but Marik walks up to the painting to inspect it more closely now. He leans in to smell it, touches one corner of it, feeling the texture, then scratches some of the paint off, spreading the crumbling substance over his fingertips and raising them to his nose to check the smell of it once more before shaking it off. It's a fake. A very recently made fake. Perhaps no older than a few weeks. The specifics of his job have made Marik learn enough about paintings and appraising them to tell with some accuracy when he's dealing with an original and when – a mere copy. He'd thought he'd smelled oil when he'd cut the canvas out of the frame, but at that point it could have also been a proof to Shyamalan's words about the angel hiding some other artwork of greater value.

Joey watches Marik examine the canvas thoroughly, trying to think of what they should do now. Technically, they've gotten exactly what their client asked them to get. With the information they'd been provided, they shouldn't have even known that there was something else beneath the angel. But after their client had the canvas tested, what would he find? More importantly – what would he assume? It would damage their reputation in the long run.

Mako turns around in his chair to regard the both of them. "So. What's the plan?"

"Hell if I know," Joey mutters low, raking his hand through his hair and messing it up.

"We hunt them down," Marik says, a terrible note in his voice. And yes, he's being unreasonable and petty, and yes, he's holding a grudge. But he's also angry at himself for not realising it sooner that the real painting had been stolen and replaced by this fake shortly before they'd run into Shyamalan. When Bakura had appeared, he'd been carrying the painting hidden in his coat. He knows this because that's the same way they got the Monet out of the Russian businessman's villa. He can't forgive himself for not realising this sooner. For not connecting the dots. For not carrying his gun and shooting Shyamalan where she stood. "And we steal it back. From them or whomever they sold it to."

Mako sighs and turns back around to face the computer screen again. "Looks like we're stuck together for a while longer then," he says, closing the files and, after a moment's deliberation, deleting the infrared images of the angel painting. "What do we do with this painting? Trash it?" It's almost a shame though, he thinks. It's too beautiful, even if fake.

"I don't care."

"Then, if nobody minds, I'd like to keep it. I'll put it up in the cabin of my boat." The one he still needs to buy. He'll get around to it eventually. Maybe next year.

"Do whatever you want with it." Marik shrugs and heads for the kitchen for another round of brooding.

They know it's best to leave him alone when he gets like that. Mako gets up and walks over to roll up the painting and put it away with his other belongings. Joey quickly ducks into the kitchen to grab a few cans of beer from the fridge and a couple packs of chicken sandwiches before crashing onto the couch, turning on the TV and browsing to find some sports channel. He doesn't understand German, but the language isn't a barrier to watch a football match and understand what's going on.

"Want some?" He gestures at the grub, inviting Mako over.

"Sure. Just let me put this away."

Joey makes an agreeing sound, unpacks one of the sandwiches and bites into it. By the time Mako joins him on the couch, he's already halfway through his second sandwich. And the yellow team has scored a goal.

"Say, Joey?" the former fisherman ventures after a moment.

"Hm?"

"Don't ever tell me that nothing happens in Germany."

"I take my words back, man."

They're about to laugh it off when there's a crash from the kitchen, followed by the sound of breaking glass. Then Marik starts laughing. Joey turns off the TV and for a moment they're both just listening to the sound of madness in unease.

"You okay there, man?" Joey eventually calls out, but there's no answer. The laughter does come to a halt, however.

A longer moment passes and Marik walks out of the kitchen, completely changed in face, moves over to his bed and takes a few items out of his bag. One of them is his gun.

"I'm going out," he announces in an odd voice; one that brooks no arguments.

"Be back soon?" Mako asks, and immediately regrets it when that darkened gaze settles on him.

"Don't wait up, honey," he mocks with far too much gravel in his voice, then pulls on his coat, wraps the scarf tight around his neck, retrieves his gloves from the pocket and steps outside.

"What the…"

"Damn," Joey mutters and crumbles the empty beer can in his hand. His expression is grim and Mako feels unease growing in himself.

"What's wrong?"

"He's having one of his episodes." Joey throws the can down and hastily gets up, starting to gather his things.

Mako watches him with wide eyes. "He's what?"

Joey pauses, a shirt he'd just picked up from a chair in one hand and a pair of mismatched socks in the other. "Oh, right. You weren't there that time. Well…" He hesitates for a moment, pondering on how best to explain Marik's issues to someone who hasn't witnessed them. "Sometimes Marik goes dark. Really dark. Last time it happened, people got killed." He gives it a moment to sink in, then continues, "We need to get the hell out of here before we become those people."

Mako rises slowly, trying to understand what's really going on. "What?"

"Listen, we've got no time. Just grab your stuff and go."

That gets him moving. In about half an hour they're done and ready to go. One last round through the apartment to make sure nothing's being left behind, a quick duck into the kitchen to grab the remaining pre-packaged sandwiches and some of the beer, carefully manoeuvring around the shattered teacup on the floor, and then they can move out. All of Marik's belongings remain where he'd put them, including the newly procured infrared camera and all the materials concerning their assignment. At this point, it's already a failed mission that can't be salvaged, their reputation be damned.

They get on the first train out of Berlin. The next morning finds them in Hamburg, booking the first available flight to London. While waiting for the boarding announcement, they relocate to a café nearby for a hearty breakfast. They're not out of the waters yet and Marik might be after them, but he's not exactly one to attack them in broad daylight in a place that's slowly filling up with people. They have only that cursory bit of safety. There's no saying how things will develop from here.

The TV on the wall is showing some morning news programme which they're not really paying any attention to until one image flashes across the screen.

"Joey, look," Mako turns his friend's attention away from the delicious ham and eggs to the TV.

The black-and-white picture is as beautiful as it is grotesque, the way the body is arranged, like a sleeping beauty put to rest eternal. Floating in a water-filled fountain, adrift amid fallen leaves is the body of a young woman with a slit throat, though shown from a distance so that all the gory details are somewhat of a blur. Even from the low quality amateur snapshot Joey and Mako have no trouble recognising Shyamalan. She's still dressed the same way as when they'd first ran into her and she even has her glasses on. Her eyes are wide open.

"Do you think," Mako starts, letting the question drift off.

Joey's jaw sets and his lips purse into a grim line. "Yeah. Looks about his style. Last time he made statements with them too."

"You never told me about that time," Mako points out, doing his best to keep his voice neutral. "Honda wouldn't speak of it either."

Joey stays silent for a moment. Meanwhile, the news coverage switches to events in sport, reporting on the score of the football game they hadn't finished watching last night.

"I guess," he finally says, a hint of defeat in his voice and on his face, "You should be prepared."

"Joey." Mako suddenly sets his fork down and drops his voice to a low whisper, his gaze caught on the reflection on the glossy surface of the coffee machine behind the counter. "Don't turn around."

Joey tenses. "Why? What's wrong?"

"Bakura."

"_What_? Where?"

"Hallway. He's just. Standing there. Checking the timetables, I think."

"_Damn_."

"The report was from Berlin; how did he?"

"Must have followed us last night after the… y'know."

Mako gives a tiny nod to show that he understands. "What do we do?"

"Wait. Watch."

They can't touch their food anymore, both looking at Bakura's reflection on the coffee machine. It disappears every time the lady behind the counter passes by it or whenever somebody enters the café, but every time it pops right back into place even though they expect it to disappear altogether. Seeing him here might be nothing more than a coincidence, but they doubt it. Far too many things aren't what they appear to be in their line of work.

"Why isn't he moving?" Mako mutters low, though he already knows the answer.

"He's waiting for us."

"Think he's with Marik?"

Joey resists the urge to rake his hand through his hair. He feels so wound up he thinks he might snap. "Don't know, man. Don't know."

Just then the announcement for their flight plays. Bakura's reflection smiles. And then, as if he's been waiting for just that kind of moment, the barista passes by the coffee machine, erasing his reflection and when she's gone, so is his reflection. This unsettles them even more. They wait until the last announcement to board sounds out and only then leave the café in as controlled a rush as possible. They are the last ones to join the line with only five people ahead of them. They're trying to cast discreet glances around, but can't spot either of the two people they least want to run into right now. They haven't even realised that they're standing side by side.

Somebody joins the line behind them and they tense, though they dare not look back.

"I wouldn't board that plane."

Marik's voice sends a shiver down their spine.

"Why?" Joey manages to croak out and hates himself for the vulnerability in his voice.

"It will crash if you do. Bakura will see to it."

"Are you…" Mako has a hard time believing his ears. They're being threatened by putting a hundred other lives at risk.

Joey shoots him a pained look. It's a part of what he hadn't yet told his friend.

"We don't like to share," Marik says by way of explanation, "Bakura and I."

It's clear to Joey that they're probably not going to live through this either way, but whether it'll be just the two of them or will they drag a bunch of innocent bystanders down with them puts the problem into a brand new perspective.

"We're coming," he grinds out in a quiet, angry tone. "I'm sorry, Mako."

"No, it's…" He doesn't have the time to finish his sentence.

Joey swings around, using his bag as an impromptu weapon and manages to knock Marik down. He lands a punch to his face that knocks him out cold and shouts for Mako to run.

That day, Hamburg experiences a never-before seen number of disasters. A mid-morning plane bound for London explodes only moments after taking off, and later in the afternoon a group of schoolchildren finds two dead bodies floating in a fountain in a city park. There's a torn painting floating between them. It depicts a beatific angel, stained in red.


End file.
